


Sowing Seeds (of health and hope)

by katmarajade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: femmefest, Developing Relationship, F/F, Family, Gardens & Gardening, Healing, Moral Ambiguity, Moving On, Post - Deathly Hallows, Slow Build, Vegetables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione's mother hires Millicent to create a vegetable garden for her. After a rocky start, Millicent and Hermione work together to grow organic produce, a beautiful friendship, and eventually something even deeper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sowing Seeds (of health and hope)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaDonnaErrante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDonnaErrante/gifts).



> It was such fun writing for ladonnaerrante for Femmefest 2014! I originally planned a short, fluffy piece, but Hermione had too many issues to deal with and refused to cooperate until I let her sort them out, so it grew a bit! She had such wonderful requests. I chose realistic post-war fic/war having a real traumatic effect on characters, lonely characters finding each other, angst, humor, and granola!Millicent. Contains many references to canon violence and moral decisions made during wartime. Also, you might want to eat before reading this, because it will most likely make you hungry. You've been warned.

Every Sunday, without fail, Hermione Granger visited her parents. Ever since bringing them back from Australia nearly five years before, it had become routine. She told herself it was her daughterly duty and reminded herself how important it was to spend time with family. Strained conversations and uncomfortable silences made the time crawl, and she left each week unable to shake the feeling that her main reason for coming was not a sense of familial obligation, but of guilt. Each week she reminded herself that it was not her penance; and each week she pretended to believe it. 

Her father still got irritable with her at times, when he remembered. When the memories stirred, the dark and unspoken ones, he escaped on one of his long, solitary rambles or closed himself in the library in an effort to shut out the world, most of all her. It had been nearly every Sunday at first, but now it had petered out to only about once a month. Hermione liked to consider that progress.

Her mother was a little _too_ cheerful, always trying to pretend that everything was just fine, that their daughter hadn't stolen their most precious memories without their knowledge or consent and sent them across the world. She tossed passive-aggressive barbs now and then, but mostly she pretended that it never happened. Instead she had thrown herself into an ever-changing flurry of new hobbies and her work, where she and Mr Granger were attempting to rebuild their dental office's clientele after more than a year away. 

Older, war-wearied, and too hardened for comfort, Hermione wasn't sure anymore whether she'd made the right call back then. Her parents were safe. She'd been able to help Harry without worrying about them. The Death Eaters hadn't been able to use them against her. It still made sense, but now there was a niggling voice in her head pointing out that most of those reasons were about what was best for _her_ , not what had been best for them. 

Did that make it wrong? There were too many grey areas now, and, in her most secret of thoughts, she worried that maybe, despite her good intentions, she had drifted towards the darker side of that spectrum. There was nothing for it now, though. She'd made a choice and she couldn't change that. She could, however, show up on Sundays and prove that she'd changed. She could make things right. 

** MARCH **

One sunny Sunday in mid-March, Hermione wandered out to the garden to find her mother. Mrs Granger had become obsessed with clean living and healthy eating in recent months, another one of her new hobbies. She had her heart set on planting a spectacular garden so that she could live off the land. Hermione didn't have the heart to point out how her mother couldn't even keep houseplants alive. 

There, chatting with a strange woman, she found her mother. 

"Hermione, you're here!" Mrs Granger effused, flashing Hermione an overly bright smile and waving her over. "I'm just going to run inside to grab the gardening book I was telling Millie here about. Come on then, darling. Get out here and keep her company while I find it. That's a good girl." 

Hermione smiled a bit woodenly at her mother, who scampered inside. The woman, presumably a gardener, was tall with a solid build and short, brown, spiky sort of hair. Her dark green vest displayed broad shoulders and impressive, well-muscled arms that gave Hermione a swirling rush somewhere low in her belly. Sun-tanned skin and mud-stained hands spoke of sustained physical work. A momentary shimmer of self-consciousness over her own skin, deathly pale from a long winter and workaholic tendencies, caused Hermione to pull awkwardly at her old, fraying sundress. Even though she was feeling a little warm despite the damp chill of the spring air, she found herself suddenly grateful that her not-very-toned arms were covered by her cardigan. 

The realisation that they were not, in fact, strangers, took a moment, and it seemed to crash into both of them simultaneously. 

"Granger?"

"Millicent Bulstrode? What are you doing here?" The accusatory tone caused Millicent to give her a long, tired look before she answered, using a slow, calming voice, like she wasn't sure where Hermione's much-lauded intelligence had wandered off to.

"I'm here to create an organic garden. Your mum hired me."

"You? A gardener? Do I look stupid to you?" Hermione's voice had ratcheted up into a shrill shriek. The idea that a devious Slytherin had gone to such lengths in order to infiltrate her parents' Muggle home was beyond the pale.

Millicent opened her mouth to reply, but apparently changing her mind, she pressed her lips together in a manner that indicated she was trying hard not to laugh. "It may be difficult to believe, but I _am_ a gardener—a damn good one, too."

Hermione stared her down, as if convinced Millicent was really an evil undercover spy. 

Millicent sighed. "Look, Granger. I know there's a lot of bad blood between us. And I know that you lot tend to believe that all Slytherins are evil fiends who ritually sacrifice virgins and eat babies on toast for breakfast. But most of us are just like you—scared, confused kids just trying to survive. And some of us even enjoy normal, non-evil pastimes like Herbology."

"You used the _Cruciatus_ on other students! And beat them up! You'll have to forgive me for not trusting your kind and generous heart!" Hermione snapped waspishly.

Millicent raised one thick eyebrow. "Really? Do you really want to compare our wartime sins? Because from what I've heard, Gryffindor's Golden Girl isn't exactly pure, innocent sunshine. I heard you blackmailed a Daily Prophet reporter, cursed other students for disagreeing with you, tricked the centaurs into almost destroying a professor, and killed during the Battle of Hogwarts."

"That was different—I had to protect Harry. We were saving the world! It was for a good cause."

"Yeah, that's what they all say." Millicent spoke evenly in a tired tone, as if she were more resigned than angry about the accusations being hurled at her. "The way I see it, people do good things for good reasons and bad things for bad reasons. But more often than not, they do good things for bad reasons and bad things for good reasons. People do a lot of things for a lot of reasons, good and bad, but there's no such thing as a good or bad _person_." 

Hermione choked back a scathing retort. When had Millicent Bulstrode become so bloody _wise_? It had been so much easier when she'd been simply a scowling Slytherin student with an Inquisitorial Squad badge and cat hair on her robes. 

"Look, no hard feelings, Granger. I get it, honestly. But I'm not the same girl I was back then. People change."

"Demonstrably," Hermione said, forcing herself to meet Millicent's eyes. Millicent gave her a little half smile, as if taking the single word as the apology and peace offering it was. "So, organic gardening for Muggles?"

"For anyone, really, but yeah. It's mostly for Muggles. Hasn't really taken off in the Wizarding community yet, at least not for those who are looking to hire someone else to plant it for them and do most of the work."

"Well, it's probably good you're here." Hermione glanced back towards the house, but her mother was nowhere in sight. "My mum has the blackest thumb in all of England."

They both let out sighs of relief when Mrs Granger rushed back to the garden, waving a large book full of brightly coloured photographs. Hermione excused herself, offering to get things ready for tea later that afternoon. 

Back inside, she decided that she could use another cuppa and put on the kettle to make a couple cups. When her father nodded and accepted the cup of Earl Grey she offered, Hermione took that as tacit permission to join him in the sitting room and read. Despite the fascinating text, she found herself constantly glancing out the window. She watched Millicent nod politely as her mother waxed poetic about her grand plans and sometimes shake her head and point to various pictures in the book or to certain areas of the garden. 

It appeared that Millicent truly was a gardener and that perhaps Hermione had jumped to unfair conclusions. Maybe Millicent was right—people could change. That, however, didn't mean Hermione wouldn't be keeping a close eye on things until she was quite certain.

** APRIL **

March was surprisingly warm, and Hermione took to lounging in the garden, sipping homemade lemonade and soaking up sunshine. She tried to pretend that she wasn't keeping tabs on Millicent's work, but when the first Sunday in April was overcast and grey, her sunbathing excuse failed. Taking a deep breath, Hermione shoved her feet into her mum's Wellies, pulled on an old jumper, and trudged out into the muddy garden. It was time to make peace.

"Need any help?" she asked, in what she hoped was a cheerful voice. 

Millicent gave her a sceptical look but shrugged. "Sure, if you're looking for something to do."

"Do you need me to plant something?"

"We're not quite there yet," Millicent said with a little laugh. "This is a first year garden so it takes a little extra prep work before you can do the planting. If we do this right—and if the weather holds up, of course—next year it will already be starting to produce by this point."

"Oh. Erm. What should I do then?" 

Hermione watched carefully as Millicent demonstrated how to continue clearing, hoeing, and digging the ever-increasing patch of earth that would be the garden. They worked in near silence for the next hour until a ubiquitous April shower began to drench them. 

After they rushed inside, Hermione insisted on getting dry and having tea while they waited out the storm. As she poured two cups of her special stock of Jasmine, a white flag of sorts, she mused silently how very odd life was, that she was sitting in her parents' sitting room having tea and biscuits with Millicent Bulstrode. 

The next week Millicent set Hermione to work planting all manner of seeds and various just-sprouted plants that Millicent had grown in her own greenhouse, from broccoli and beetroot to carrots and cabbages. Hermione could feel the strain in her back as she planted spindly peas and asparagus crowns, and wondered if she'd ever be able to get her hands clean again as she dropped potato sprouts into the ground. It was therapeutic, in a way, doing such physical work. Hermione had never been much for outdoor labour, but with the sun shining and the birds chirping, it was actually quite peaceful. Millicent worked silently except to correct Hermione when she was spacing the leeks too close together or planting the onions upside-down.

The quiet was lovely, but Hermione's curiosity grew as the sun drifted higher in the sky.

"How did you get into gardening, anyhow?"

"After the war, I needed somewhere to go. My parents were dead—they'd stupidly aligned themselves with the Dark Lord. We have more than a few Muggles and Squibs on our family tree, and I think they were looking for some sort of validation that they were still part of the Pureblood crowd." Millicent sighed. 

"The Ministry was searching for scapegoats and my parents' stupid choices made me a perfect target. So I went to stay with a cousin of mine—a Squib. She was really into holistic living, healthy food—that sort of thing, and told me about all the horrible additives and chemicals in our food and how we eat too much processed junk. She made some good points and I think I was still looking for a fight, in a way, and this one seemed … I dunno, easier? Less dangerous, at least. 

"Plus, she was the one who knew how to cook, so I pretty much just ate what she served. And it was actually _good_. It was tasty, and I felt good after eating it. Now I'm healthier and happier, and because I spend so much time growing my own food and helping others to do the same, I feel like I'm making a positive difference in the world—creating something _good_ for once. Call it an overcorrection. I'm sure you can appreciate how that would be a selling point for someone like me. " Millicent said the last part a little wryly, and Hermione felt another surge of guilt about doubting her former schoolmate's motives. 

Wasn't Hermione always trying to effect change in society? Make sure that all creatures were treated fairly? Eliminate prejudice? Open hearts and minds? Sometimes she could be a bit of a hypocrite. 

"Look, Millicent, I'm sorry. About doubting you, that is. It was really unfair of me. I just … well, sorry. I'm pleased that you're here now, and my mum is really excited about all this good stuff you have going here." Hermione flushed a little, realising she was babbling. 

A nod and that now-familiar half smile indicated that she was forgiven, and Hermione let out a happy huff of air, only now understanding just how heavily that had been weighing at her conscience. 

** MAY **

As the weather grew warmer, so did Hermione and Millicent's relationship. Gone were the awkward silence and wary glances. Instead, Hermione chattered about books she was reading and told silly jokes, earning Millicent's loud, uninhibited laughter. The jokes were rather dumb, and most of them came from Ron or Ginny, but Millicent didn't seem to care. 

Every week Millicent brought yet more vegetables to plant, and every week Hermione bemoaned her own London flat where her only living plant was a sad little pot of rosemary in the kitchen window. 

The second Sunday in May, Millicent pointed out the tender spears of asparagus jutting up from the soil, and Hermione actually squealed in excitement. Millicent doubled over laughing at her reaction, and Hermione tried not to focus on how that made her chest tighten—or why.

** JUNE **

As summer gained strength, the garden flourished. Millicent looked exhausted every time Hermione saw her, working long hours at each of her multiple gardening jobs to keep up with the demand. Hermione left work early one Thursday, taking home case files to peruse that night, and showed up in her parents' garden to help pull weeds while Millicent fought with the finicky cauliflower and checked soil nutrient levels. The appreciative half smile (which Hermione was beginning to realise was Millicent's rather charming version of a _full_ smile) gave Hermione a rush of satisfaction. 

She left work early the next Thursday, too. 

And the next.

One Sunday they spent four hours picking peas, filling three giant baskets with towering piles of pods. The dismay on Hermione's face when an overloaded basket spilled everywhere made Millicent grin broadly, only getting wider when Hermione began to pout. They remained so for a long moment, before Hermione huffed and flung one of the pea pods at Millicent's head. They both burst out laughing, long and loud, until Mrs Granger came rushing out to see what all the commotion was. 

Their conversations grew as organically as the vegetables. Millicent was generally terse, but she offered up tiny morsels about herself; Hermione mentally assembled them, like pieces of a puzzle, and was more amazed with each new revelation at how horribly she'd misjudged her. Millicent liked coffee, specifically organic, fair-trade, shade-grown, dark-roasted coffee. She drank it with only a bit of organic milk, but she took her tea black with sugar. She loved chocolate and was allergic to most shellfish. When she'd been a little girl, she'd longed to be a ballerina; she had cried when her ballet teacher called her clumsy and graceless, but she'd stubbornly continued to practise in secret for many years. Her cat, Treacle, was a gift for her first year at Hogwarts, and she chose him because he had long, dark brown hair just like hers. (Hermione did not mention how _very_ aware of that similarity she already was.) 

On rare occasions, Millicent shared deeper secrets. Her cousin, Lizzie, had lost both her parents and her younger brother in the Brockdale Bridge collapse. Millicent still hadn't told Lizzie that their deaths had actually been at the hands of Death Eaters, because she was scared her parents might have been involved somehow. 

Hermione offered her own stories. She talked about her work at the Ministry, how she'd thought things would be easier and she'd be better liked after she left school; but her colleagues still rolled their eyes at her passion and complained about her intense work ethic behind her back. She talked about her short-lived, post-battle romance with Ron and how, despite an amicable parting, things between the two of them just hadn't been the same since. She quietly explained how awkward she now felt at the Burrow and how she felt like her best friends had moved on without her, diving headlong into glorious new lives, in which she no longer quite fit. 

During one dreary June afternoon, the truth about what she'd done to her parents during the last year of the war came spilling out: all her good intentions and careful planning, her cocky conviction that had turned to confusion and turmoil.

"You can't judge actions of wartime based on the moral principles of peacetime," Millicent said quietly. "It doesn't mean that those actions are _right_ , but, when you're fighting to survive, the lines between right and wrong get pretty blurry." 

Hermione stared at a long line of lettuce, the leaves waving in the breeze and the edges becoming indistinct as she fought back the tears pricking at her eyes. 

"Hermione," came the gentle voice, and Hermione suddenly found herself wrapped in warm arms. 

Burying her face in the soft cotton of Millicent's vest, Hermione let herself go. She cried for her parents, for what they'd lost and how she'd hurt them. 

She cried for herself, for the idealistic little girl she'd once been, for the determined young woman who'd weathered a war and emerged a broken stranger, for the woman she now was, a hailed hero still trying to heal an impossibly scarred past, a lover of peace who had willingly embraced the evils of war, now unable to reconcile that part of her with who she'd been before and who she now wanted to be. 

She cried for all the others who still faced the demons, who had grown up too fast, who had seen far too much, who'd touched the darkness inside—the kind that could never be washed out. 

She cried and, for the first time since the war, she didn't make herself stop. Millicent held her tightly, strong arms holding her steady. She smelled like fresh dirt and sweat and lemons, and Hermione breathed her in, warm, solid, and comforting, as she fell apart. 

It wasn't until a week later than she realised that Millicent had called her Hermione for the first time.

** JULY **

July's ample rain and blazing sun caused the garden to flourish, and soon there were peppers and cucumbers taking over the Granger kitchen. Cheerful chatter helped pass the time as Millicent and Hermione watered and weeded and watched for pests. Their conversations grew more interesting, both Hermione and Millicent having long since let down their guards. 

Hermione had inhaled every book she could find on gardening and could now hold her own during discussions on runner beans and soil acidity. She also started teaching herself to juggle using some of the peppers that weren't quite pretty enough to please her mum. Millicent watched, her trademark half smile firmly in place, and laughed every time Hermione dropped on her foot (or her head).

Making Millicent laugh was a heady sort of feeling. Never before had Hermione been the funny one; she never earned laughter unless it was at her own expense. After years of being the boring one, the bossy one, the brainy one, it was rather nice to be considered _fun_.

When the tomatoes began to ripen, lush and red and glorious, Hermione started taking one late morning a week at work in order to help. Rumours ran rampant in the office about what was keeping hard-nosed Granger away, but she tried to ignore them; she was still more productive than anyone else in the department, even with her relaxed seasonal schedule. If anything, her boss seemed relieved that she was finally taking a break, even a minor one. On Tuesdays, she came by her parents' house early, when the air was still cool and barely sun-touched, and started the watering. The stifling heat meant extra work to keep the plants hydrated. 

"You don't have to do this, you know. Your mum is paying me for this," Millicent said one morning after arriving a few minutes later than usual, dark circles under her eyes and shoulders slouched, clutching her ceramic mug of coffee with just a touch of grass-fed, organic milk. 

"I know," Hermione answered. Millicent offered a grateful smile and never mentioned it again. In fact, Hermione was rather sure Millicent _enjoyed_ the company. Even if Hermione's gardening skills were mediocre at best (despite her recent research on the subject) and often times she was probably just slowing Millicent down, just getting in the way. But Millicent never said a word—unless, of course, Hermione was doing something that would hurt the plants. 

The days were hot and heavy, and it seemed nearly impossible to give the garden enough water, despite their best efforts. On the hottest days, Millicent would spray Hermione with the hose, just a rainbow of mist to cool her skin. When Millicent was feeling particularly whimsical, Hermione would find herself giggling hysterically while being fanned with wide leaves of Swiss chard, the red stems staining Millicent's already dirt-darkened, callused fingers. 

Weeks passed and the tomatoes peaked in crimson waves, filling basket after basket until they despaired what to do with the surfeit. 

Millicent picked a ripe red tomato, heavy and luscious, wiped it on her thin cotton trousers, and handed it to Hermione.

"Eat it," she instructed.

Hermione gaped at her, turning it around in her hand. "Just let me go rinse it off and grab a knife from …"

"No, just bite into it, like an apple. You won't ever have a more perfect tomato than this." Millicent shook her head, smiling her enigmatic half smile as she observed Hermione's flustered reaction. 

Finally, wanting to prove herself, Hermione took a deep breath and chomped into the red flesh, spurting juice and seeds everywhere, down the front of her, across her face, in her hair. So startled by the messy result, it took Hermione a moment to register the flavour before her eyes widened in appreciation. 

"That's amazing! How can it taste so much better like this than when it's cut up properly?"

Millicent smiled—a full-blown one this time—and, as Hermione listened to a ten minute love song to vegetables, she couldn't help the warmth that whispered across her entire body. Despite the heat and humidity, she was pretty sure the sun wasn't the cause this time. 

They sat in the shade of an elm tree to eat lunch on Sundays. Millicent brought chilled metal bowls full of delicious salads; they were never complicated, but they were always different, straight from Millicent's garden, and invariably delicious. When they'd first started sharing lunch, Hermione had brought biscuits—store bought, of course, as she was never home to bake—but after a few passionate lectures from Millicent on the dangers of processed foods, she began splurging on organic chocolate instead. The delighted expression on Millicent's face when she bit into the small bar of fair-trade, organic caramel-crunch dark chocolate was worth the exorbitant price tag. 

** AUGUST **

At the beginning of August, Hermione took to wearing sundresses in the garden. From what she'd seen, Millicent's entire wardrobe consisted of lightweight, loose cotton trousers (in a wide variety of shades of brown) and snug green or brown vests that kept her arms free and unimpeded. Every once in a while, on a particularly cool morning or evening, Millicent donned a grey zip through hoodie, but otherwise her cotton trousers and vest combination was a veritable uniform. 

Millicent's clothing was practical, eco-friendly, kept her cool in summer heat, and washed up easily. Hermione understood that and appreciated the wisdom behind Millicent's wardrobe choices. She also very much appreciated the way the green vests clung effortlessly to Millicent's torso, highlighting broad, sculpted shoulders; strong, toned arms; smooth, sleek muscles; and warm, tanned skin. It was completely illogical, but Hermione _swore_ that the outfit looked better on her with every passing day. 

After careful examination in her mirror at home, Hermione had determined that, unlike Millicent, her arms were not her best feature. However, her shapely legs were her greatest physical assets, which was why she spent a bit too much money purchasing a few too many summer dresses. She'd worn them now and then during the spring, but she had switched over to more comfortable work clothes once she started working in the dirt. They were utterly impractical, sure to be destroyed with mud and streaky grass stains, but Hermione had a sudden desire to look pretty. There was nothing for it, only a woman wanting to look her best. No, Hermione assured herself, there was no other reason whatsoever. 

She wore a red cotton dress with short sleeves and tiny yellow flowers for the first time on a hot but cloudy Thursday afternoon. Hermione flushed slightly and tried to keep her shoulders straight and head high when Millicent gave her a curious look.

Later, as she kneeled on a gardening pad pulling weeds, Hermione thought she saw Millicent's eyes rest on her mud-smeared calves for just a little longer than necessary. Yanking out another stem of knotgrass, Hermione felt a little smile playing at her lips and a warm, cosy, satisfied feeling nestling in her lower belly. 

Maybe there _was_ another reason. That idea percolated in Hermione's mind all that day and the next. When she saw Millicent again on Sunday morning, Hermione wore another dress, this time in green jersey, and gave Millicent her brightest smile. Millicent looked more suspicious than smitten, but Hermione's hopeful cheer continued, undeterred. 

The long days grew incrementally shorter and the last muggy waves of summer caressed their sun-kissed skin as they harvested their bounty: colourful hot peppers, crisp lettuce, wispy fennel, fragrant garlic, giant cucumbers, and more green beans than they could carry. 

At Hermione's request, Millicent shared her recipes for beans. Roasted with garlic; seared and drizzled with toasted sesame oil; tossed in a balsamic vinaigrette with fennel and walnuts; snapped into bite size chunks along with lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers and covered with tangy tzatziki sauce. 

Hermione began cooking, inspired by the baskets of produce her mother sent home with her (and perhaps wishing in some small way to impress a certain vegetarian gardener). For years she'd subsisted off curries, fish and chips, and other various forms of takeaway, leery of cooking after her rather depressing attempts at scavenging and meal-making while she and the boys had been on the run. She was delighted to discover that cooking was far more fun and satisfying when one had more proper pots and pans, a working range, and actual ingredients. 

But she still hated mushrooms and almost any form of stew … some things one just couldn't forget.

She brought cucumbers, tomatoes, and olives mixed with mustard, red wine vinegar, and fresh herbs to her parents' house the next Tuesday. When lunchtime rolled around, she proudly tossed the mixture with freshly picked greens and served it to Millicent. Despite the slightly overpowering mustard flavour, Hermione thought it quite the success. Surprised eyebrows and an impressed smirk showed that Millicent agreed. 

On Thursday, she stopped off at Tesco to buy glass containers. After noting the way Millicent had winced slightly at the sight of the plastic container on Tuesday, Hermione had done some research and discovered that plastics contained all manner of nasty chemicals, so she should use metal or glass instead. She'd promptly dumped the few plastic food dishes she owned into the recycle bin before realising she had nothing else in which to carry her lunch the next day. She waffled a bit, wondering which Millicent would consider worse: homemade food in plastic or a pasty in paper from the shop down the street. She finally decided on the latter, partly because she didn't feel like fishing out the plastic tub and washing it and partly because she really did love Cornish pasties. One couldn't forgo _everything_ , after all. 

** SEPTEMBER **

The colourful summer produce finally started tapering off in time for the greens to get into full swing, and soon Hermione was helping harvest kale, rocket, and watercress. Millicent effused over new recipes with such unfettered passion that Hermione started to feel mildly jealous of the vegetables. Watercress and radishes with apple cider vinegar and toasted mustard seeds. Rocket and cabbage bathed in fresh lemon juice and olive oil and sprinkled with fresh herbs. Roasted beetroot with dark chocolate glaze. 

On Tuesday mornings, Millicent began coming by a bit later. The garden was once again becoming more manageable as the rush of the summer harvest faded, and the slight chill in the air meant that they didn't need to start watering quite as early anymore. 

The local schools were back in session, which meant that Mr and Mrs Granger were home more often. They'd put in long hours during the summer months with children needing dental examinations and orthodontia for the new school year. Now that her parents weren't going into the office as early anymore, Hermione began taking breakfast with her mother on Tuesdays before going out to help in the garden. 

The second Tuesday of September, as she and her mum shared toast, late summer berries, and some of the organic French Roast coffee Hermione had brought over early that week, her mother asked,

"Darling, what would you like to do for your birthday this year?"

Floundering, Hermione took a sip of her coffee, black with a dash of cocoa powder (another Millicent recommendation), before answering. "We used to have birthday dinner, but I know you both have been rather busy in September these past few years …"

"Of course we can find time for a birthday dinner, Hermione. We're your parents. Just because we disagree with some of your life choices, it does not mean that we don't love you."

Hermione took a deep breath and another drink, wondering if it was a two cup of coffee sort of morning. 

"I know you are still angry about what happened, mum," she started, unsurprised when her mother interrupted.

"No, not at all, darling," she insisted. Hermione wanted to groan, wondering how many years her mother would pretend she wasn't still hurt and upset over Hermione's choice to put them into hiding during the final year of the war. "Now then, what would you like for supper and who would you like to invite? We can keep it just the three of us or we could invite your school friends—we haven't heard much about them lately, you know, or we could have Millie. You seem to be quite a pair these days." 

Ignoring the jibe about Ron and Harry and pretending not to notice the insinuation about her friendship with Millicent, Hermione tried to find the least controversial part of her mother's question to answer. "I haven't had your lasagne in ages. I always loved that."

"Lasagne it is, then."

The conversation stalled, Mrs Granger sipping her coffee and Hermione nibbling at a bit of pumpernickel toast. 

"Perhaps I will invite Millicent," Hermione said after a few minutes. 

"Very good."

"She's vegetarian."

"Oh, well, I can make the lasagne without beef. Your father will put up a fuss, I'm sure, but …"

"Thanks, mum," said Hermione, breaking in. Glancing out the window, she saw a familiar flash of dark hair. "Looks like Millicent's here. I had best go help with the garden. Looks like we'll have pumpkins soon."

"Very good, darling," nodded Mrs Granger. Drinking down the last of her coffee, Hermione couldn't help but notice once again how exhausted her mother appeared, and she felt a familiar pang of guilt. 

"Thanks, mum," Hermione repeated, pressing a brief kiss to her mother's bushy brown hair. 

It took some coaxing and many reassurances, but Hermione finally convinced Millicent to come to her birthday dinner. Slipping away during a fierce debate about whether red or white wine went better with vegetarian lasagne, Hermione answered the door and her mouth dropped in shock. 

Millicent shifted awkwardly and thrust a bottle of organic syrah into Hermione's hands.

"You said you liked French wine," she said quietly, almost nervously, like she was half expecting Hermione to hurl the bottle into the front bushes in disgust. 

"Oh, yes, French. Yes. Very good." Hermione mentally kicked herself, took a breath and started again. "Thank you, Millicent. I love French wines, reds in particular. This looks lovely."

Millicent let out a sigh and her familiar half smile returned to her face. 

"You look lovely, as well," Hermione observed, unable to take her eyes off Millicent, who wore grey trousers and a silky, sleeveless green shirt that whispered across her breasts in a way that made Hermione squirm. 

Shrugging her shoulders, Millicent gave a self-deprecating smile. "In case you needed proof that I do actually own clothing other than my gardening wear and old Hogwarts robes."

Hermione let out a laugh and ushered Millicent inside. 

"Dad, mum," she said, interrupting her parents. "Millicent's here. And don't you think that a nice French syrah would be delightful with lasagne?" She raised her eyebrows meaningfully and both her parents set down the bottles they'd been fighting over.

"Millie, darling, it's so nice to see you. Don't you look lovely in those clothes! Let me just open this wine up so it can breathe."

"It's good to see you again, Millicent. The garden has been wonderful. We've really enjoyed everything you've grown," said Mr Granger, shaking her hand. 

"Oh, erm, thank you. Your daughter has been a real help."

"Yes, she's always helping," he said with a tight smile. Millicent's eyes grew but she wisely said nothing.

"Please, come sit down. Dinner will be ready shortly." Hermione gestured to the sofa in the adjacent sitting room and her father excused himself to set the table. 

The meal went as smoothly as could be expected. In an effort to accommodate her father, who had not finished a real meal with her without storming off in more than four years, Hermione tried to keep the conversation light and steer clear of any potentially troublesome subjects. When Mrs Granger served the chocolate tart and began pouring after dinner coffees, Hermione let out a sigh of relief. 

Millicent made polite small talk with Hermione's parents about their dental practice, seemingly fascinated by the concept.

"So you have all these Mug—er, people who pay you to keep their teeth clean?"

"We used to have more," muttered Mr Granger. Both Hermione and her mother looked at him sharply. "What? Are we still pretending that it's not our daughter's fault that we're rebuilding a formerly successful business that she singlehandedly destroyed when we should be focusing on retirement?"

Mrs Granger laughed nervously. "Now, dear, this isn't the time. Who wants another piece of chocolate tart?"

Hermione flushed and locked gazes with her father. Stormy eyes stared back. This was usually the point where Mr Granger excused himself to brood privately, and she could tell that the firm edict Mrs Granger had given him earlier that afternoon—that he finish a proper family meal with them—was warring with his natural instinct to flee. 

"Typical! You can't even take responsibility. You still don't think you were in the wrong!" Mr Granger exploded, and they all stared at him in shock. He never yelled. He hadn't actually discussed what had happened since the week Hermione had brought them home. Nearly five years of silence. 

"Dad, please, we have a guest."

"No, I'm tired of this—of pretending you didn't wipe our minds and forcibly relocate us—across the bloody planet, I might add—without our knowledge or consent. It was a bad choice, Hermione. If that's the selfish, entitled way of thinking you've grown up to have, then I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed to have a daughter who cares so little for others and is so sure she's the one who knows best that she'd do something like that."

"I did it for you! You'd be dead if I hadn't. They would have killed you," Hermione said tightly.

"You can't know that. And what about it? You should have respected us enough to tell us—to give us a choice. Who are you to make that sort of decision for us? What gives you the right?"

"If I'd asked, you never would have agreed," Hermione said, her tone flat and brittle. 

"You're damn right I wouldn't have!"

"You'd have stayed here and died, another casualty in a war you weren't even fighting."

"It was my decision to make!"

"Well, then I must get it from you, because that is a bad decision!"

Mr Granger turned to Millicent and asked harshly, "Is this what they teach children in your world? To disrespect your parents and take away people's free will?"

"Dad!" Hermione gasped, but Millicent met his gaze evenly. 

"With due respect, sir," Millicent began. "I only wish I _had_ disrespected my parents more. I obeyed, did what I was told. I let them make the hard choices for the family. And they were _wrong_. If I'd disrespected them a little more, then maybe they wouldn't be dead. I'd be happy to have them angry and yelling at me if it meant they were still alive. And I didn't even _like_ my parents! Granger here idolises you—that's easy to see. And after watching you lot all summer, I can say with confidence that she gets all that annoying Gryffindor courage, righteousness, and conviction from the two of you."

All three Grangers stared at Millicent, who shrugged and continued.

"You weren't in the thick of it, Mr Granger. You weren't watching good people die, innocent bystanders tortured and killed. You couldn't make the call because you didn't have the faintest concept of how bad it was. Your daughter did. You can complain about it all you want—your business, your life, all of it. But if she's anything like me, then she'd rather have you angry than dead."

Silence hung over the table for a full minute. Millicent focused intently on her tart. Finally, Hermione broke the quiet, her voice barely above a whisper. 

"I don't know if I was right, Dad. I … I honestly don't know. I know how much I love you. I know what was at stake. I know I still feel sick inside about taking your memories. I also know they would have killed you. There were … there were rumours. They knew where you were and … I'm sorry that I hurt you and I'm sorry that I've lost your trust and respect. But I'm not sorry I saved you. And, at the time, it was the only way I knew how."

Mr Granger reached over and pulled her into his lap, where she melted like she was a small child again. 

"Honey, I'm so angry. I don't know if I'll ever _not_ feel that way. But I love you, so much, and as a wise woman once said, I'd rather be angry than dead." He glanced up to meet Millicent's eyes for a moment. "And I'd much rather deal with anger than with losing you."

After nearly five years of tension, the emotional dam burst. Hermione clung to her father, breathing in the familiar scent that she hadn't experienced in far too long. Tears streaming down her face, Mrs Granger wrapped her arms around both of them, and the three of them barely noticed when Millicent slipped outside, leaving the family to their private moment. 

Nearly half an hour later, Hermione slipped out of the house. Her parents remained in the sitting room, still clinging to each other. Her father had given her a meaningful nod and her mother had waved her off with a watery, red-eyed smile. She found Millicent sitting in the garden, staring out at the jungle of plants that they'd spent months building. 

"I thought I might find you out here," Hermione said, her eyes still red-rimmed but her voice steady.

"I really love this garden," Millicent said softly, not looking over at Hermione, who sat down beside her. "It's probably the best first year garden I've ever created. I thought I should get in a last look. I assume your mother will fire me—and quite rightly—after that little speech of mine."

"I wouldn't worry too much. You said what needed to be said. Thank you. I think they understand now why I did it. Not that it makes everything okay, but … thank you." 

"I understand why you did it. I probably would have done the same thing. If, you know, I could have possibly managed it."

"I'm sorry about your parents," Hermione murmured. 

"Yeah, I am too. But I'm glad you saved yours. That was … well, it was impressive. You really will do anything for the people you care about, won't you?"

Hermione let out a dry little huff of a laugh. "Yeah, sometimes I scare even myself."

Millicent sighed, and Hermione watched her face as she stared wistfully out across the dark garden. "They're lucky. I mean, to have someone who loved you enough to do anything to keep you safe … that's got to be a pretty amazing feeling. I kind of … I kind of wish I had that." 

The words came out almost in a whisper, like secret hidden truths scared to surface, worried about exposing their vulnerability to the harshness of the world. 

Hermione reached over and cautiously wove her fingers into Millicent's warm, callused hand. Millicent sat stiffly, unnaturally still, and Hermione bit her lip, trying to ascertain whether her actions were welcome. 

"You do have that, you know," she said softly, and Millicent's eyes strayed over to meet hers. Hermione offered a shy smile, and the look Millicent gave her was a million things rolled into one: weary, amazed, hopeful, stunned, and most of all, beautiful. The intimacy in that gaze made something inside Hermione's abdomen churn in the most agonisingly glorious way. 

Gripping Millicent's fingers firmly, Hermione mustered her vaunted Gryffindor courage. "I would really like to kiss you now."

Millicent let out a disbelieving laugh and shook her head slightly, fixing Hermione with that wonderfully familiar little half smile. Then she leaned in slowly, her eyes burning into Hermione's as she drew closer, and their lips met.

Millicent's lips were warm and dry, and they scratched softly at Hermione's mouth before Millicent's tongue flicked out, wetting them and making the slide of lips even more perfect. Hermione felt a rush of heat radiating outward to every inch of her body, relishing the _rightness_ of the feeling. 

Hermione's clever mind marvelled at the sensations, and her heart felt as if it might burst for how long she'd wanted this and how long it had taken them to get to this point, this perfect point. 

But if Millicent had taught her anything, it was that things took time, and the best results could not be rushed and needed to grow naturally. It took time and patience, attention and love, and it was worth the wait. 

And there, surrounded by pumpkins and stars and the cool smell of chilled earth, they lost themselves in a long, perfect first kiss.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Sowing Seeds (of health and hope) by katmarajade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322032) by [fire_juggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_juggler/pseuds/fire_juggler)




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